


Galaxies In Your Skin

by KayLingLing7



Series: Body Paint AU [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Anal Sex, Body Paint, Established Relationship, Fluff, Jean is a huge sap, M/M, Morning Sex, Mutual Pining, POV First Person, POV Jean, Porn With Plot, Rimming, So much fucking fluff, art included, don't worry the art is SFW, makeup artist Jean, marcobodtomweek2016, theatre actor Marco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 08:39:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8571739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayLingLing7/pseuds/KayLingLing7
Summary: With some inner turmoil – a part of me just wanting to glue myself to his back and never let go – I sit up on top of him, moving back to sit against the curve of his ass. And then I remember – fuck, his back is covered in paint. I stare down at his back and grimace. “We’re going to get the sheets so fucking dirty.”“We can buy new sheets.”---Body paint AU where Jean gets home after a month of being away for work, paints Marco's back, and then proceeds to wreck the painting and their sheets by fucking him, much to Marco's delight.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write this for so long, I drew the art for it at least a year ago, so sorry for the long wait. This is set a few years after Sunshine Smiles, but you can read this as a stand alone - I still want to write a first date fic between Sunshine Smiles and this, but knowing me it might be another year before that sees the light of day. Also I wanted to have this done for Bodtom Week's Make Up prompt, but time got away from me. Only 6 days late!
> 
> Also, apologies for this being in first person, but Sunshine Smiles was in first person too and I didn't want to break format.
> 
> You can reblog the art from this story on [ my Tumblr here](http://smutindevelopment.tumblr.com/post/153251405316/galaxies-in-your-skin-this-drawing-is-from-more) if you like it!

As per usual, and with exhausted frustration, I blink awake up at roughly 5:30 in the morning. 

It’s not a choice to wake up this early – especially on a Sunday – but it’s summer now, and the sun has been rising progressively earlier every day, and with the light leaking through the open blinds across the kitchen, and the birds literally _screaming_ in the roof, I can’t make myself wake up any later than 6am even when I truly, desperately want to – even when, like this particular morning, I only fell asleep after 2am last night.

(One could argue my forced wakefulness is the reason I’m always so grumpy, but I would argue I wouldn’t be so grumpy if people would mind their own fucking business.)

As I turn on my side away from the sun streaming in from across the studio apartment, I can’t begrudge the early hour for my perfect view. This, I think, is worth waking up at the ass-crack of dawn every day for the rest of my life.

Besides me on the bed is an angel, an actual living and breathing angel, his hair tousled from sleep and his tanned skin glowing in the early morning light. Even in sleep laugh lines are etched into the skin around his eyes and mouth. 

I can’t stop myself from looking at him. This – this _perfect_ human – is mine. _My_ perfect human, lying on his stomach with his arms crossed under his head, shirt off and the covers kicked down around his knees.

It’s been so long since I last woke up next to him. The last two weeks I’ve been across the country, staying in a shitty little hotel room, working from dawn to way-past-dusk on a big film production doing special effect makeup (not naming any names, but it rhymes with Cider-Pan), and the two weeks before I left Marco had been on a cross-country tour with his theatre company, having come home the night I had left for my own gig. That’s the problem with couples working in the entertainment business – you either work on the same productions together, or you live a life of miss-matched schedules. 

But we survived the month of separation with texts, phone and video calls – some explicit, some just talks of day to day life and whining about missing each other.

(Okay. I was the one whining the most. But how could I not? He’s beautiful, and I missed his warmth and our comfortable small apartment and his god-damn perfect cooking.)

Now I get to bathe in his presence, asleep besides me. I could stare at him for hours – and plan to – until my brain kicks into remembering a few days ago, when Marco had phoned, excited, to tell me my package of new body paint colours had finally arrived, and my eyes are magnetically drawn to the strong slope of Marco’s back, bare and freckled and just _waiting_ to be painted. 

My hands twitch, my brain already kicking into gear thinking up different patterns and scenes that I could draw. I try to push the thoughts away so I can just focus on lovingly staring at my boyfriend for another few hours – but –

Fuck it.

With a resigned sigh I get out of bed. After a quick stop in the bathroom to piss and wash my hands (and maybe comb through my hair and wet down the cow-lick at the back – just so I can look somewhat decent when he wakes up), I move into the kitchen, where an unopened cardboard box is sitting on the counter in front of the damn window that woke me up in the first place. I had noticed the box when I came in last night, but had been too tired to look at it, instead just dropping my bag and makeup kit on the floor and flopping into bed. This morning, however, I can finally take a moment to appreciate it. I get out the kitchen scissors and cut the box open, carefully pulling out the new paint palettes with as little noise as possible. 

The colours take my breath away, get an excited thrum going under my skin. Vivid purples in at least 5 different shades, blues in every shade from midnight to periwinkle, and a new white that should be much more pigmented than my current brand. There are other colours too – pinks and oranges and yellows – but I’ve already got the perfect idea forming in my head, and my hands have got that itch again.

I quickly grab a tray from atop the microwave, fill an empty jar next to the sink with some lukewarm water, grab my paint brushes from the cupboard under in the corner counter, and make my way carefully back to the bed. Tentatively, I put the tray down on the bed next to Marco, then slowly crawl over him to seat myself on the peak of his ass, Looking down at the freckled expanse of perfect skin stretched before me. 

I don’t even need to think before my hands are already moving, opening the paints and dipping a wet brush into them. I start with purple, then blues, then white, blocking them out first in solid colours around each other before I wet the brush again and start brushing over the lines between the colours, blending them into beautiful gradients.

The colours go on thick and opaque on the first try, but I use more water to make it more transparent, wanting to see the freckles beneath the colour. I paint over Marco’s skin like the finest of canvases that it is, relishing the slopes in his muscles, the slow rise and fall of his breathing. 

Once I’m happy with the gradient I put down more white, whisking the brush to get a cloud texture in the paint. The freckles and moles on Marco’s back are still visible where I’ve made sure the paint isn’t too thick, and I take a small fine-tipped brush and start painting white spots directly on top of them, flecking the purple and blue skies with shinning stars.

With the last freckle spotted over in white I sit back to admire my work. The colours are vibrant against Marco’s skin, the white stars standing out against the blue and purple skies. He once told me, on one of our first dates, how he used to hate his skin when he was a child, how he once took the silver-wool from the kitchen sink and hid it in the bathroom cabinet until later that day, so that he could sit in the bathtub and scrape and scrub at his skin until it was red and tender, trying to get rid of them.

When he told me that story I had vowed to cherish his skin for him, even though it was only a date or two into our relationship, even though he had since learnt long ago to love his skin. Sometimes he would go to auditions and be told he did not suit the role because of them, but more often than not his freckles gave him an edge over the competition, made him recognisable in a crowd, made him beautiful. 

I have painted a galaxy across the expanse of my partner’s skin, bright and infinite, a picture worth every word in my vocabulary that could ever hope to express how much I adore him.

Happy with my work, I lean forwards to grab Marco’s phone from the side table (mine still lost in my carry-on luggage and probably long dead by now) and open the camera on it, taking a few shots of my work. 

I’m admiring the photographs when the ground below me shifts, and a sleepy but amused voice says, “are you finally finished?”

I start, almost dropping his phone, but recover quickly, a small blush on my face. “Marco! How long have you been awake?”

“Hmm,” Marco hums, stretching his arms out in front of him. “I woke up around the time you got on top of me? I think I dozed off for a while in the middle too, but it was kind of hard to sleep with that pocking into me.” He flexes his hips up, and I’m immediately made aware of how hard my cock is against him. I hadn’t even noticed.

I blush so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if steam starts coming out of my ears. “Shit! Sorry! I didn’t-“

“Hun, it’s fine, did I say I was complaining?” Marco says, laughing. He turns his head to look at me through one brown eye, crinkled around the sides with laugh lines. His smile is fond, his voice soft as he says, “Moring, Jean. I missed you.”

My heart melts in my chest as I look down at him, a smile as fond as his mirrored on my face. I lean forwards to kiss him slowly, relishing the feeling of his lips on mine after a long month apart. When we break apart I rest my forehead against his temple, the smile back on my face. “Missed you too. You have no _idea_ how much.”

“Pretty sure I know how much, based on the texts you sent me during your rap party,” Marco scoffs. He side-eyes me again. “So what did you paint? Let me see.”

I grab his phone from where I dropped it, clicking past the pass code and opening the photo I just took again to show him. He leans his head back slightly to look at it, his eyes focusing on the image, and then he smiles.

“That’s gorgeous, Jean. I love it.”

I blush at the praise, taking the phone back from him and place it on the night stand. Even now, 3 years into our relationship, I still get so flustered every time he praises me. 

“Thanks,” I say roughly, leaning down over him again to kiss his temple. I run a hand up and down the side of his arm, relishing the feeling of his smooth warm skin beneath my palm.

Marco makes a pleased noise at the back of his throat - almost a purr - watching my hand as it strokes over his skin. “You know,” he eventually says after a long moment of peaceful quiet, “I think you’re forgetting something.”

“Huh? What?” I frown, half-heartedly trying to think of any anniversaries or appointments for today, but distracted by just being near him.

Marco rolls his hips up under me again and – shit, I might have flagged a bit, but I’m still hard against him. I squawk, and he laughs. 

“How can you forget you’re hard?” he forces out between laughs, his body shaking under me hard enough to almost dislodge me from his back. 

“Shut up,” I groan, hiding my face in the nape of his neck, “you’re very distracting.”

I can _hear_ the smile on his face. “So are you going to do anything about it or are you just going to sit there pocking me with it like the tease you are?”

“I’m not _trying_ to tease you,” I grumble into his neck.

Marco hums, flexing his back and rocking his ass up again, and this time I’m fully aware of the boner resting against the small of his back as I groan, subconsciously grinding down against him. “ _Marco_ ,” I hiss as heat pools in my stomach, “who the fuck is the tease in this scenario?”

Marco lets out a breathy sigh, arching his back again so his ass is pressing against me, his fingers digging into the pillow beneath his head. “Babe,” he gasps out, high and breathy, “I’ve _missed_ you. Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed that cock of yours?”

I gasp out against his skin, my body undulating over him without any will of my own, turned on in seconds by his voice, by his need, by his body beneath me. I’m brought back to the memory of a few nights ago, bored on set and waiting for a particularly long scene to be finished up, and checking my phone only to see a Snapchat from him with his ass high in the air, the pink dildo he keeps in his bed side drawer lodged deep inside him, lube spilling out around the edges and down onto the skin of his taint. I had nearly fainted at the sight of it, telling my colleague I needed a bathroom break before I had hopped my way to the mostly deserted bathroom on the third floor, locked myself in, and proceeded to fuck into my hand with the phone pressed against my ear, breathing out promises of everything I was going to do to Marco when I got home.

Well. I’m home now. Time to live up to my promises.

With some inner turmoil – a part of me just wanting to glue myself to his back and never let go – I sit up on top of him, moving back to sit against the curve of his ass. And then I remember – fuck, his back is covered in paint. 

I stare down at his back and grimace. “We’re going to get the sheets so fucking dirty.”

“We can buy new sheets.”

“True.” I quickly pick up my tray of paints on the bed besides us and put it on the bed side table, opening the first drawer and taking out the bottle of lube Marco keeps in there. The bottle is half empty. “You really went to town using this stuff with that dildo, huh?” I say, shaking the bottle from side to side.

Marco laughs. “I haven’t seen you in a _month_ , Jean. I got lonely.”

I lean forwards and kiss the back of his neck, “don’t worry, I’m here now.”

“I know,” Marco says, unclenching a fist from his pillow and moving his arm back to clasp my thigh gently. He looks at me over his shoulder. “Now stop talking and fuck me.”

I put a hand on top of his on my thigh and squeeze it, a smirk on my face even as my heart picks up in my chest. “Hey, be patient. I’m going to fuck you, but I’m going to take my time with it.”

Marco groans, planting his face into his pillow. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he mumbles into the fabric. 

I just laugh at him, shaking my head, and go about moving to sit between his legs, pulling his boxer shorts off as I go. I grab a pillow from my side of the bed and coax his hips up to put it under his stomach, and – _god_ , what a view.

“I’m pretty sure you’re going to be the death of _me_ ,” I finally reply, only taking my eyes off his ass for the second it takes me to pull my shirt off over my head, followed by my shorts, and socks for good measure (while I like to sleep with socks on, fucking with them on is not very sexy. Even if my partner is face down in front of me, I’d rather not risk him teasing me about it – _again_.)

I run a hand down from the small of his back over one round cheek, then the other hand down the other side, squeezing the two separately before I pull them apart and lean forwards to kiss and lick my way down the crack, giving the occasional bite to one cheek or the other. Marco tenses, gasping and pushing his ass back into my grip, moaning with each bite. 

He fucking loves this. _I_ fucking love this. When we’d both realised we loved rimming – him receiving, me giving – that was one of many moments spent with Marco where I thought _yeah, fuck, this is the person I am meant to spend my life with_. Deciding someone is your Soulmate because they like having their ass eaten out might be weird, but – you’d have to see my boyfriend’s ass to understand.

I go slow, because he hates it when I do (he says he hates it, but I know his impatience and anticipation makes it so much better for him in the long run), and start by just kissing around his hole – a kiss above, and a kiss bellow, and then one on his hole, just once, followed by a kitten lick. He _mewls_ into his pillow, legs shaking, and I press my fingers into the flesh of his ass, widening my access further, and lick a long thick strip over his hole.

“ _Jean!_ ” he shouts my name, muffled into the pillow, almost sobbing. I decide to take some pity on him. 

I take the plunge, slipping my tongue slowly into his hole, moaning at the tight heat of it. Above me he sobs and keens, muffled _yes yes yes_ into his pillow, pressing back against me to try and get more.

So I give him more.

I fuck into him with my tongue, digging my nails into the soft flesh of his ass as I do. Eventually, when his legs are shaking beneath him and he’s rocking back into it like he couldn’t stop if he tried, and his voice is just breathy gasps of _yes fuck more Jean_ – that’s when I move one hand from his ass and slowly start to press my index finger in along with my tongue, widening the gab more, teasing around the entrance. 

Marco sobs. I’ve missed the sounds he makes, phone calls and web cameras just not doing any justice to every hitch and gasp in his breathing. I get a finger in alongside my tongue to the second digit, press in, and then move away entirely to sit up between his legs.

There’s a long moment where Marco just lays spent, breathing heavily into his pillow, before he moves to look at me over his shoulder. “Why’d you stop?” he asks, _whines_ , panting.

I’m already opening the bottle of lube to speed across my fingers as he asks, so I just hold up a hand to show him. “I couldn’t wait anymore,” I say plainly, watching as his eyes zero in on the slicked-up fingers, pupils dilating visibly.

He turns back to press his face into his crossed arms again. “Well then stop sitting there and do it already,” he huffs.

“Yes sir.”

He’s already loosened up, so when I slip in two fingers at once there’s not much resistance. It’s only when I’m going deeper than my tongue could reach that I have to slow down, scissoring and crooking my fingers. I hit his prostate on the first try and he starts to breath harder again, rutting back against me with each thrust of my fingers.

He has to be loose enough by now, but I add a third finger just to be safe, scissoring and crooking them a few times before I finally can’t handle waiting anymore. When I finally pull my fingers away he whines, long and loud, at the loss. 

“Shut up, you needy baby,” I laugh, slapping his ass. He’s not usually this needy – but, well, sometimes he becomes a bit of a cock slut when I tease him long enough. I love it.

I lean over his back again and kiss his cheekbone. “Condom or no condom?”

He thinks for a second, then shrugs. “I really don’t want to get out of bed to shit after this. So condom?”

“Hmm, you’re such a smooth talker, babe,” I tease, kissing his temple again before I lean back to grab a condom from the nightstand. “So we can get the sheets covered in body paint but your ass full of cum is just too messy?”

Marco groans into the pillow, trying not to laugh. “Body paint doesn’t give people diarrhoea, Jean.”

I put on a high breathless voice as I tease, “Oh, Marco, you’re _sooo_ sexy. Please tell me _more_.”

“Jean!” he can’t help laughing this time, pulling an arm out from under him to smack at my thigh uselessly. “I swear to god, Jean, get that damn condom on and put your dick in my ass or so help me-“

I didn’t even let him finish the thought before I was pushing into him, slow and steady, and he cuts himself off with a long keening moan. 

_God_ I’ve missed this, the tight heat of him around me. I hold still when I bottom out, both for his benefit and mine – the feel of him, after so long, is over-simulating, over-whelming. I lie flat against his back with no heed to the artwork on his back, just trying to be as close to him as humanly possible.

“ _Jean_ ,” Marco says under me, a small quiet sob.

“Shh, babe,” I answer, moving an arm under his chest, kissing the nape of his neck reassuringly. My own throat is tight, my eyes watering, over-emotional. 

I start moving, slowly, pushing in and pulling out in increments. Pressed up against him like this, I can feel every hitched breath he takes, every push back against me. Marco puts one of his hands up over his shoulder, and the arm that’s not hugging him to me reaches out to take his hand, entwining our fingers together.

I pick up the pace, thrusting into him harder, going deeper, and he moves under me, pressing back to meet me and deepen it further. _You’re so good, you're so warm, you’re so perfect_ – the words come up my mouth, unbidden, breathed into his skin. He meets each of my praises with his own, cries of _right there, don’t stop, missed you_ sobbed into his pillow.

It’s not long before I hug him hard against my chest, squeeze his hand in my own, press my face into the nape of his neck, and burry myself deep into him, coming hard enough to see stars.

I fall onto his back after, sated, but still manage to loosen my arm around him and reach down between his legs, taking his cock into his hand. It’s not long before his spilling onto the sheets, gasping out my name as he does.

With great effort I pull out, pull the condom off, tie it, and throw it into the bin. I flop onto my back next to Marco, spent, both of us still breathing hard.

After a moment of staring up at the roof my eyes are pulled, like magnets, back to him. Marco’s eyes are closed, but as if feeling my gaze on him his eyes open, creasing around the edges as he smiles. 

“Morning.”

I smile back, the big real smile I have that only Marco ever sees. “Morning.” I lean forwards; he meets me half-way. We share a morning kiss, chaste and slow.

I fall back onto my pillow, still smiling at him.

Marco’s eyes rake over my torso. “You ruined your painting,” he says. 

I glance down at myself – sure enough, my stomach is covered in smudged blue, purple and white paint. A glance at Marco’s back shows that it’s not much better off. “Good thing I got a photo of it, then,” I say, although I don’t really care. All my paintings could end like this and I wouldn’t mind, but Marco always gets angry at me when I don’t document things correctly. 

Marco hums, closing his eyes again. There’s a long moment where we’re both quiet, happy, bathing in each others’ presence. 

We might have dozed off for a bit, but when I open my eyes again Marco’s eyes are open and on me. He smiles. “Want breakfast?”

“Of course,” I scoff, having missed his cooking – craft food is fine, but it ain’t shit compared to home-cooked food.

Marco stretches out, yawning. “I’m probably going to need to have a shower first.”

“That seems like a good idea,” I agree, reaching out to run a hand over his shoulder blade, caressing his skin. “Want some company?”

“Oh, boy, if you think I’m going to let you out my sight for a second today you’re so wrong,” Marco teases, finally sitting up in bed. He grabs my hand. “Come on – shower, breakfast, then more sex. I’ve bought enough food to last a week without either of us having to leave the apartment once.”

“That sounds perfect,” I say, letting Marco pull me up as he gets out of bed. I glance down, “might want to change the sheets before we go for round two, though.” 

Marco laughs, pulling me against his chest and kissing my shoulder. “Who says we have to do round two in bed?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. Again, you can reblog the art from this story on [ my Tumblr here](http://smutindevelopment.tumblr.com/post/153251405316/galaxies-in-your-skin-this-drawing-is-from-more) if you like it! Please kudos, comment and bookmark as you see fit. ^_^


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